I don’t talk about him much…
It has taken me 35 years ,and his death, to wrap my head around our relationship.
What I have come away with is, I loved him.
He was my first love. I loved the way he called every woman baby. I loved the way every woman smiled when he said it. I loved the way he made eggs. I loved his smell and the way my hand felt in his. I loved his hugs. His intelligence. The fearless way he rode his bike through NYC. Watching him play chess in Harlem in St. Nicholas Park on a Saturday afternoon. His obsession with old westerns. Us walking around the neighborhood while he sang. I loved sitting next to him to watch basketball games. His laugh. I loved his voice on the phone when he would lecture me about my choices in men, when I knew he knew I kept picking men just like him.
I loved the way I loved him. I loved him hard. I loved him in spite of the pain. I loved him even though his inability to truly care for me almost destroyed me. I love knowing that I am capable of love like that.
And on this day, the anniversary of his death, I choose to remember what I loved only. I choose to let go of everything else and know that our relationship taught me everything. God always has a plan. It is because of our love that I know how to love others…and so I thank him. And miss him. And wish things could have been different….